The Most Human Color
by ScarlettLilly
Summary: It was the third consecutive day since he had felt anything but desperation pulling at his heartstrings and stifling the air in his lungs. He's numb and indifferent, yet one familiar face from his past is able to change all that. O/S, Post DH, SLASH


**Disclaimer [that I forgot for my other stories I believe]: I do not own Harry Potter or the character therein. They belong to J K Rowling, and I am merely borrowing them for my own creative amusement/pursuits. **

**Hi guys! ScarlettLilly here with another Oneshot. This was mostly inspired by the song Blue Lips by Regina Spektor. You don't have to listen to the song-because I know not all of you will-but if you do give it a listen, mostly in the beginning, you'll really get a feel for the mood of the story. Regardless, ****I hope you enjoy it, it's a little different from what I usually write. **

**The Most Human Color**

Not considering when Harry Potter had turned down his offer of friendship during First Year, Draco Malfoy had never been rejected before, never been pushed aside for not being good enough. That had been such a long time ago, a time of innocence compared to today. He wished he could have those years back. But no, he didn't have a time turner and he was living in the harsh reality today, far from the bliss on innocence. Today was the third consecutive day that he lay on the dark gray leather couch in his room at Malfoy Manor. It was the third consecutive day that he had drunk himself into a state of numb indifference. It was the third consecutive day since he had felt anything but desperation pulling at his heartstrings, suffocating the air in his lungs, the Firewhiskey flowing like the blood in his veins. It was the third day since Astoria had packed up and left, and this time, it was for good.

He was truly alone now and he had neither friend nor foe to welcome to the empty manor full of bitter ghosts and broken dreams. He now realized, truly and honestly felt that he was at the bottom of everything. He had nothing to live for, and there was nothing to his family name but the splattered bloodstains that wouldn't ever wash off.

Pulling himself from the leather of the couch that stuck to his skin, he sighed heavily as stood, swaying slightly, and a bottle of Firewhiskey was grasped tightly in his hand. He wished he didn't exist, but couldn't wish himself dead. Either way, this was no way to live. He had known Astoria didn't love him, not any more than he didn't love her, but it was even more so when they found out Draco couldn't father a heir, then losing his job the week earlier, finally finding out where his mother's body had been laid to rest…he still hadn't gathered the courage to visit. What an embarrassment he had become to the family name he had become. His mother would have never let things go so far. He had to pull it together; she deserved that much from her only son.

He would visit her tomorrow.

_Tomorrow is good,_ he thought. _Yes, tomorrow would be good._

Two more weeks passed by and he hadn't once left the tall walls of Malfoy Manor. He had long since run out of alcohol, but his mind was still just as numb without it, nothing really mattered anymore. He lay in bed every morning staring at the dark green canopy above him, body stiff and unmoving. There was nothing for him outside those for walls, no; he had no reason to leave the familiar creases and folds of the cold, empty, but familiar bed. The house elves would pop in occasionally, cleaning around him, bringing in plates of food that remained untouched only to be replaced hours later with another meal that would get cold and be thrown away just as he felt he should waste away. Couldn't they see how pointless it was? Couldn't they see that he didn't want to live? They were house elves he supposed. That was their life and that was their purpose. Regardless, he wanted nothing. Nothing could save him now.

A sudden gust of wind blew against the window carrying with it chunks of snow and ice blowing from the trees and rooftops. The spontaneous sound startled him and his pulse quickened. He suddenly found it stifling and suffocating to remain inside the dark room, the walls too tall and too solid around him. Without any idea of where he was going, he stalked out the room and down the long corridor, the slight pitter patter of his bare feet a muted sound as he moved sloth-like down the lit hall. In a daze, he ran his hand along the cold stone walls. The floors were cold too, and it felt new, it felt good.

His feet moved faster of their own accord, he felt the thrill of a chase, adrenaline rushed through his veins and made him shiver, goose bumps raising all over his skin. He was outside. The wind blew and its harsh reality felt like a kindred spirit against his skin. He stood at the entrance to Malfoy Manor, staring out at the snow covered land in front of him. Rolling his pants up to his knees, he moved towards the stark whiteness of it all and reveled in the awakening sensation, his toes twitching at the little crystals of ice shifting between them. In a life changing moment, he fell back into the snow, staring up at the silver white sky.

_The cold surrounds me now: if I could just go–just go to sleep…shake the world off my shoulders. _

He closed his eyes and imagined. Cold pale skin. Blue lips.

His eyes stung and he opened them to tears streaming down the sides of his face, the warm drops melting the snow where they landed. And then he stared up at the whirlwind of snowflakes dancing in the air above him before they were carried away by the wind. One remained, and he watched it as it drifted around in front of him, down, closer and closer, slowly and surely.

It landed on his nose, slowly melting away into nothing and he forced back a sob at the possible significance of the white snowflake. He reminisced about winter holidays spent in France with his mother. After he played in the snow, Narcissa smiled endearingly at his childish glee, his red nose, pink cheeks. Kneeling in front of him, they would rub noses in an Eskimo kiss, and she wrapped their hands around a mug of hot cocoa that she hadn't made, but Draco would secretly pretend that she had, and imagined it filled with love and the comfort of home as he cuddled into her warm side.

He would go today.

* * *

It was strange to know that his mother's corpse had been buried with other casualties of the Light. It was true they had switched sides at the last moment of the war when they realized who really had the power, but he hadn't expected for things to turn out the way they did. It was an honor he knew—a gift almost—but he felt he would be unwelcome if he were to show his face in such a sacred place. He hadn't done anything for the Light during the war; in fact he had done the exact opposite, and now he was to visit the sacred place where those truly of the Light went to mourn their losses.

He held his coat tighter around his neck, shoving the other gloved hand in his pocket as he made his way amongst the snow covered trees. He followed the set of footsteps that were made in the snow, his only guide along the path that had not yet been cleared. He wondered whose footsteps he traced for they were not much larger than his. Not much farther ahead of him, he saw Dumbledore's White Tomb. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to move towards it—it wasn't quite real until he touched it. He ran his fingers over cracked marble, a steady jolt of fear running through him, his breathing shallow and sharp in the winter cold. Things really could have turned out differently. He cursed. He hated "what ifs". He pulled his hands away from the hard stone and stuffed them back into his pockets, wrapping his scarf tighter around him when a fierce wind blew. It hadn't been this cold by the manor.

Not sure of the specific location where his mother's body had been buried, he glanced around looking for plots marked with the simple stones for those who were unidentified or whose families could not afford a family stone. In the far left, he saw were a majority of those stones were and turned to walk in that direction and froze when he heard a voice from ahead. Slowly, and as quietly as he could, he moved to hide behind a tree, peering past its large trunk to see who it was that the fates had placed in his path on such a day.

It was hard to discern the figure who was dressed in equally dark winter attire, but the glasses gave it away. Those round framed glasses that belonged to a familiar face—the one and only Harry Potter. He didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but he was curious to know who the dark haired man had come to visit. Unsure of how he would be welcomed, he took one more glance towards the place where his mother might lay before turning away; looking back only once to make sure he hadn't been noticed.

He had returned the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that. Each day, Potter was there, knelt on the ground, speaking quietly to the spirit of a lost friend, someone he obviously held dear. The former Gryffindor seemed so sure yet undoubtedly desperate. Desperate for what? For another chance to live it all again? To go back in time and change the truth?

He wished to go back and save all the innocent souls that had been lost.

For weeks Draco visited the little graveyard and from afar, he watched the former savior speak quietly, sometimes crying to the grave. Some days, Harry would sit there so still and forlorn in a silent conversation, seemingly lost in another reality and Draco felt the desire to approach his long time nemesis, his heart twisting in the pain of empathy… though remained in the shadows, ashamed of whom he had become, the nothingness he had fell to. He feared what his days had become: day after day of emptiness. Filling his glass to fill the time. He had nothing to prove, nothing to do, staying awake for days because sleep wouldn't come. He wanted change, so desperately so. He was tired of not getting anywhere but older.

Then one day, he realized that the snow had turned to mud beneath his feet. Spring was on its way. Was this the change he wanted? He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it at the house elf that he had summoned, throwing his hat and gloves aside also. With every step that he took, he felt the ground would swallow him up if he stood too long. His hair was tied loosely away from his face, high on his head, not in the low ponytail reminiscent of his father's. He couldn't change who he was, but he could change his hair and he could change his clothes to show that he was different.

He apparated to the bottom of the hill like he always did, slowly making his way along the muddy path. The air felt like a being around him, forcing him forward, coaxing him along his way. And as always, there was Potter, knelt before another headstone though today he stared blankly ahead, lost in his own thoughts. Draco stepped into a deep puddle of mud and Harry turned to stare at him, his gaze suddenly very aware.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

Harry stood from the ground, spelling away the mud on his knees. He sighed agitatedly as he strolled lazily towards the blond, running a hand through his messy waves. He focused his gaze on the man in front of him, thinking for a moment before asking, "Fancy a drink?"

"Pardon?" asked Draco, eyes squinting against the bright sun no longer hidden behind clouds or trees, completely taken aback by the turn of events.

Harry looked him in the eyes, sighing as he tucked his hands in his pockets. "I know you've been watching me, Malfoy. What do you want?"

"From you? Nothing, Potter," responded Draco with a raised brow.

Harry nodded distractedly, looking off into the distance past Draco's shoulders, contemplating what he was about to say. "Let's have a drink. We can at least be alone together."

As they walked down the path, Draco snuck side glances at the man next to him. For someone who visited the dead daily, he looked strangely composed; his dark hair was messy and nonchalant, his figure strong and sure. There was a different air about him. Gone was the enthusiastic innocence that he held at school, and in its place was a quiet charm, some secret edge, like an undercurrent.

"So," Draco started breaking the silence, "where are we headed?"

"My place," Harry answered simply.

Draco was slightly hesitant at the suggestion but didn't let it show. He was curious to where this would lead. "Let me guess, it's called The Den?"

Harry laughed quietly. "No, it's The Lair, actually."

Draco stopped and looked at Harry incredulously. "Really."

"Don't be dense. It's just my place." Draco fought the smile that threatened to break his façade of indifference to the strange events unfolding before him.

They sat at the island of Harry's kitchen, Draco nursing his glass of Firewhiskey, Harry sipping on a clear drink that Draco couldn't discern though he could smell the alcohol in it every time Harry brought it to his lips. He realized how quiet it was between them, in the small house, and a thought hit him.

"I'm a little shocked. Where's the Weaslette?"

"Ginny, you mean. We split years ago, before the Battle."

"No pitter patter of little Weasleys running about, then?"

"Merlin, no," Harry replied, his tone repulsed and with a hint humor. "We were never in love. It was a matter of convenience, you know," Harry added, downing the rest of his drink. He stood, legs heavy as went to mix another. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nothing, actually. But I'm curious…who do you visit?"

Harry's hand tightened around the glass in his hand, pausing in his movement. "A lot of people," Harry answered, his laugh void of humor, "you must wonder why I go every day?"

"I do."

"Thought so," Harry turned around, taking a sip of his dark orange drink and leaning his hips against the counter. "It was during the final battle, right when I was about to face off with Voldemort. He had asked me why I continued to live, and I said, 'Because I have something to live for'…" he paused; glancing outside the window a she continued to speak. "My family and friends might have died in the war, and God knows I miss them, but I lived for them when they were alive, and now that they're gone, it's all the more reason to live—for them. I go to the Graveyard everyday because it reminds me of who I'm living for," he finished, glancing back up at Draco with haunted eyes.

Draco watched Harry move about the kitchen as he spoke about what it had been like for him the months after the Final Battle. He only half listened distracted by the way Harry moved, solid muscles flexing and tightening with every little movement he made. His jeans were a little on the snug side, hanging low on his hips but hugging them comfortably, a little sliver of tan skin was exposed when he reached for something above him—it was tempting and alluring. Right then, Draco really realized that they weren't school boys anymore. Harry Potter was a man: a man with a fuckable body, a very beautiful fucked up man. His skin warmed and he turned away from the sight, exhaling deeply to calm his racing heart.

He was in Harry Potter's kitchen talking about life and death, so why not get drunk? He thought, maybe loosen up a bit. He asked for another shot of Firewhiskey to which Harry responded by placing the bottle between them, smirking at Draco's joyous expression. The blond removed his light robe, folding it over the back of the chair and Harry's brows raised in surprise to see that he was wearing Muggle clothes. Clothes that happened to fit him very, very well, he noted.

"Muggle clothes, Malfoy?"

"If you can't beat them, join them," he kicked off his shoes, pulling his socks off before leaning back in the chair, one arm over his lean torso, the other holding up his glass of the amber liquid.

Harry smirked, taking in Draco's figure stretched out in front of him. "Glad to see you're comfortable."

"Without a doubt," replied the blond. He tossed his head back to stare at the ceiling, his free hand returning to the pocket of his dark jeans. We can at least be alone together, Harry had said. Alone. Together. Alone. He took large gulps of his drink.

"Astoria left me."

"Oh."

"Months ago."

"I know."

Draco shot up in his seat. "What? How?"

"Word gets around."

"Oh Merlin," he said, hands running over his face.

Harry laughed quietly beside him, sneaking a glance at the flushed cheeks and the escaped tendrils of blonde hair gracing his face. He wondered if his lust was clear on his face. He had never been one to hide his emotions well.

"You're not wearing your ring. I figured."

Draco glanced at his left hand like he had forgotten about its existence. "Hm. Well, then."

Draco felt like he had been alone for longer than just a few months, his marriage with Astoria never quite satisfying his passion. He had no clue to the last time Harry had been involved in a relationship but he was surprised that the man was even single at all. The moment was charged, the alcohol, electricity in their veins, heat. If Harry gave him one more glance with that look on his face—the quiet boldness and seduction. Just one more look.

Harry worried his lips at what he was about to admit, why he had invited him over. He sighed and turned to Draco, his intentions clear in his eyes. "Malfoy—"

—that look on his face.

Draco stood hurriedly, knocking his chair to the floor in a rush. Harry looked from the chair to Draco's face, a hopeful look in his dark eyes, his skin flushed from alcohol and the heat of arousal. Draco leaned towards him crashing their lips together violently, pulling Harry closer with a hand on the back of his neck. The brunet leaned into the kiss, his moans swallowed into the recesses of the blonde's mouth, heavy heaving breaths, loud, echoing throughout the room. Harry pulled Draco to himself, fingers sneaking into his belt loops and tugging slim hips to his body. He stood from the chair, pushing Draco back against the counter to press their hips together. Draco groaned at the friction of strong hips grinding into his, their semi-hard erections rubbing together forcefully. Harry leaned his hands against the counter on either side of Draco's hips, moving away from the blond's lips to nibble along his jaw and nip at his pale neck. Draco's arms wrapped around his hips, the blond biting back a groaned when Harry forced a leg between his and pressed forward, hard length brushing up against hard length.

Harry continued to kiss and bite along the column of his Draco neck, the pale man throwing his head side, neck exposed and chest heaving at the intensity of sensations he never felt with another. Harry bit playfully at the sensitive spot at the base of Draco's neck, he sucked it forcefully, alternating between biting and licking as a hand travelled down to the blonde's growing erection in his jeans. He palmed it in his hand and ran his hand along the hard length, occasionally squeezing and eliciting a delicious moans from Draco's pink lips.

"Fuuuck."

When Harry's lips left him, he took the moment to dive in for a kiss, sucking on kissed bruise lips, accidently bumping into Harry's glasses and knocking them askew in the process. Annoyed, he yanked them off, throwing them onto the table before deepening the kiss, tongue teasing Harry's lips, begging for entrance. Harry bit the pink muscle, running his tongue slowly underneath, a string of saliva between them when they broke apart, erotic. Draco plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, tasting the fruity alcohol on his breath. He snuck his hands under Harry's shirt; the skin, hot to the touch and he ran his hands over the soft heated flesh, pushing the shirt up and over Harry's messy head of hair. Their lips collided again, hips thrusting freely against each other.

Draco closed his eyes when he felt a familiar pulling in his abdomen, opening them to find himself in a dimly lamp-lit bedroom, splayed out on a large bed with Harry beside him. He rolled over, pressing his body over the slightly shorter man beneath him and latched onto a pink nipple, sucking it desperately as he teased the other with his hand. Harry bucked underneath him, his back arched as Draco abused the delicate nubs. He reached between them, pulling up at the hem of Draco's shirt, to which the blond responded by removing his shirt and tossing carelessly to the side.

Harry wanted to close his eyes at Draco's hands on his him, but couldn't tear himself from the sight of Draco running his fingers along the length of his clothed erection, a seductive look on his face as he squeezed slightly, teasing just as he had been teased before. He bit the brunet once through his pants before undoing the button, pulling the zipper then the pants down his legs and off his feet. He did the same with his jeans leaving him in pair of black boxer briefs that clung tightly to his ass and his straining erection. Settling back down between Harry's spread legs he ran his hands up the tan, muscular torso, fingers reaching towards hard nipples. He leaned forward and kissed them each before kissing Harry deeply, hips continuing to rub against each other, all the while, his hands ran up and down Harry's sides, reveling in the heat emanating from the flushed skin.

"So hot, Harry," he mumbled into his chest.

He tasted Harry's skin: placing open mouthed kisses all over the soft surface, biting and sucking, leaving small love bites to mark the nearly flawless skin. Harry planted his feet on the bed and spread his legs wide, wrapping his arms around pale broad shoulders. His back arched as Draco continued to mark his skin, hips thrusting persistently against his, leaving him in a constant state of high arousal. He pressed his hips up into Draco's to show his impatience at the blonde's ministrations, a low moan leaving his hips when said blond thrust back just as harshly. He couldn't catch his breath.

He dipped his hands into Draco's underwear, pushing it down his hips to fondle the round globes in his grasp, causing Draco to groan and push back into the touch. Harry pushed the undergarment all the way off, sliding it down his hips. Without inhibition, he watched the blonde's straining length sway and bounce as he knelt to remove the underwear. He bit his lips and groaned at the arousing sight before removing his boxers, tossing them aside as he beckoned the blond to lie back against him. Draco straddled Harry's legs on his hands and knees, grabbing his pink erection lying against his abdomen. He leaned down and kissed the tip lightly before taking the head into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around the sensitive organ. He licked along the entire length, focusing mostly at the head of the organ while his hand pumped slowly at the base of the hard length. The blonde licked along the deep slit causing Harry hips to buck into his hot mouth, the brunet was on his back panting, flushed, and burning with lust.

"What the hell, Draco…Fuck me already!" whined Harry wrapping his legs around Draco's hips.

Draco continued to kiss along the column of Harry's neck, sliding their erections against one another. He sat back on his heels, palming Harry's erection with one hand.

"Lubricant?"

Harry nearly rolled his eyes at Draco's formality, reaching into the top drawer of the bedside table. He tossed it at Draco and willed his body to relax as Draco poured some of the oily substance onto his fingers, letting a few drops fall off his fingers onto Harry's twitching hole.

"Hurry," Harry said desperately. Wanting.

He eased Harry's legs up furtherer, caressing his inner thigh to distract him from the impending discomfort. Focusing his gaze on Harry's, he ran his index finger along the outside of his anus, relaxing the outer muscles before pushing in, immediately surrounded by an intense heat. He swirled the finger around the channel, all the while rubbing Harry's thigh and staring into his intense green eyes.

"Relax," encouraged Draco, once more reaching for Harry's straining erection, the light pink head turning a dark red. Twisting his three fingers around, he stroked the silken walls of the channel, searching for the bundle of nerves that would have Harry screaming his ecstasy.

"Ahh! Fuck!" screamed Harry, back arching high off from the bed and he pushed his hips closer to the electrifying sensation. Draco continued to stroke the bundle of nerves, watching Harry lose himself to the pleasure running up his spine as he started to fuck himself on long fingers. "Malfoy…" he warned, when the blond pulled back.

Grabbing his erection, Draco lined it up with Harry's entrance, scooting forward as he pushed the head past the outer rings of muscle. He thrust in and out slowly, going a little deeper each time until he was fully seated in the body beneath him.

"Oh, Merlin," exclaimed Harry, head lolling to the side, his eyes shut tightly as he pulled at his own hair. He was so hard, so turned on; he wanted to come so badly. He reached for his erection, stroking it slowly, clenching his muscles to show that he was ready. And then the blond leaned forward, pulling out and thrusting just as slowly, causing Harry to groan and unconsciously tighten his walls around his channel. For a very short while Draco kept a slow pace, leaving Harry panting harshly, his needy body hungry for more. He raised his head from the pillow to see that Draco watched his length disappear into his body.

He fell back against the bed with a groan. "Faster," he urged, "harder."

"A little demanding, Potter."

"Shut up and fuck me harder!" He growled out in frustration.

Draco gave a brutal snap of his hips, brushing hard against Harry's prostate.

"Ohhh yes!"

"Like that?" Draco asked snapping his hips once more.

"Yes yes yes! Fuck. Oh god." Harry's head rolled side to side, his breath shallow and hot, loud keening pants leaving his lips with each thrust up his ass. He moaned and groaned, jolts of pleasure running through his nerves at each brush against his prostate as Draco continued to thrust hard and fast, the friction of Harry's tight walls around his pulsing length bringing them closer to their limit, together. He leaned down and kissed Harry on the lips, his thrusts becoming erratic and primal as the pleasurable burn coiled in his lower abdomen. Harry reached for his own pulsing erection, fisting it slowly at first and then losing his rhythm to Draco's thrusts as he too got closer and closer to orgasm.

"Oh, so close!" He moaned into the pillow, biting his lip at the impending burst of energy.

Harry whined when Draco pulled out entirely, the tight coiling in his stomach receding. The blond, coaxing him to his hands and knees, entered him slowly again, continuing to move hard and fast into the tight channel, Harry involuntarily arching his back to meet his thrusts, occasionally rolling his hips against Draco's groin. He supported himself with one hand and reached to pump his erection with the other only for his hand to be slapped away as the blond leaned over him, his chest to Harry's back as he thrust deep, then stilling. Harry flushed cheek was pushed into the bed, his hands by his face fisting the sheets tightly in his fingers.

"You're not going to touch yourself," Draco said, punctuating his sentence with a harsh jerk of his hips. Harry eyes shut tight and groaned loudly, pushing back and arching even more, wanting more, more, more to reach an orgasm that seemed just out of his reach. They set a new rhythm of thrusts, their loud panting breaths filling the air, accentuated by Harry muffled moans into the pillow.

Soon, the coiling heat returned, spreading throughout their groins before exploding in an intense shock of pleasure that spread over their body.

"Oh fuck," Harry gasped out, his breath caught in his throat, his back arched with the onslaught of pleasure pulsing through his body.

Spent, they collapsed onto the bed, Harry, face down into the pillow, his arms that his sides where they had fallen carelessly. Draco reluctantly lifted himself up on his arms , a groan escaping Harry's lips as he pulled out, watching the erotic sight as his hot cum trickled out Harry's used hole. What he really wanted to do was lay on the bed next the the panting brunet, but the feeling of waking with dried cum on his skin was a uncomfortable one and he frowned at the thought of having to use his shirt as a towel.

"Er—"

"Bathroom," mumbled Harry into the pillow. He pointed to a door on his left, lazily rolling over to stare at the ceiling. His nerves were on fire, still charged and tingling from his mind-blowing orgasm, "Uhn, fuck..."

* * *

The next day, Draco woke up in Harry's bed, an arm thrown over the former Gryffindor snoring loudly in his face.

He groaned as he rolled over, running his hands through his messy hair and bunching it at his temples where the pulsing ache seemed to be most intense. He was definitely feeling the effects of the last night's alcohol and because he didn't have a hangover potion with him as he would at the manor, he collapsed back to the bed, sighing gratefully for the lack of sunlight in the dim room. He glanced over at Harry and noticed things about him that had slipped through his observation yesterday. The dark shadows under his eyes…the very faint scars littering his wrists. Blue veins prominent through the thin skin.

And then he thought back to when he lay in the snow just the day before, when the cold had surrounded him.

The image of a cold pale body with blue lips.

Blue veins forcing blood back to the heart.

END.

**ScarlettLilly**


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